


New Year's Eve

by aspermoth



Category: Mutants & Masterminds (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: British, Fluff, Gen, Original Character(s), Original Universe, Self-Indulgent, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 05:39:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2570177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspermoth/pseuds/aspermoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A self-indulgent piece of fluff about an RP character of mine called Anthony. He lives in a Mutants & Masterminds game called Spellbraid and he drinks tea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Year's Eve

Anthony was sound asleep when the doorbell rang.

Well you would have been too if you'd stay up until half three in the morning trying to translate a load of ancient Greek.

He'd nearly cracked it. He'd gotten so close. But the words had started vibrating on the page and his eyes had started to droop and he'd had to give in.

Plus he was becoming more and more certain that if he activated the ring, it would set something on fire. So it was probably for the best to work on it while awake.

And he was awake now.

The doorbell screeched. He needed to buy a new one.

Wait. That wasn't important. He needed to get up and answer the door.

Anthony threw himself to one side of the bed, his legs twisted up in the blankets, and nearly fell flat on his face. Arms and legs flailing, he sent two or three precarious piles of books toppling, covers sliding across the carpet.

The doorbell rang again.

"I'm coming! Hold on!"

Leaving the blanket stretched half way across the room and papery carnage in his wake, Anthony stumbled his way down the stairs, the wood cold beneath his feet. A left turn and he was at the front door just as the postie stuffed a red "We missed you" slip through the letterbox.

"I'm here! Hold on!"

Anthony threw himself forward and wrenched the door open.

"I'm here! Hi! Sorry!"

The cold hit him like being thrown into a cold shower and his breath misted in the air. The postie stopped and turned around.

"Oh thank God. Thought I'd have to carry this back wi' me."

"No, no! It's fine! Sorry, I was asleep."

"Bit early, isn't it?"

The postie held out his little electronic box for Anthony's signature, which of course looked nothing like his signature once processed through touch screen.

"How d'you mean?"

"It's tonight you hit the sauce, isn't it?"

"Oh! No. Just had a late night. What date is it?"

The postie took the electronic box back and handed over the parcel, staring at Anthony as though he'd lost his marbles. A common situation, really.

"New Year's Eve, mate. Enjoy the parcel."

"Oh! Right! You have a nice day!"

The postie shook his head. Anthony waved, nearly dropped his parcel, re-secured it in his arms and closed the door. Bloody hell it was cold. He wouldn't be surprised if it snowed soon.

Hang on. He wasn't expecting any new artefacts. He deliberately didn't buy any over the Christmas period because the postal service was too busy. So what on Earth was this?

Anthony waved his way around a few more pendulous book stacks and into the kitchen, depositing the parcel on the last remaining space on the kitchen table. Then he put the kettle on. You couldn't face a mysterious package without tea, he always said.

One cup of Earl Grey later, he moved a few papers from the last free chair, sat down, and examined the package.

Recorded delivery. The address was hand-written. And... was that Mother's handwriting?

It was. Strange.

Anthony leant over, grabbed a knife from the kitchen draw and carefully cut the brown paper away to reveal what was underneath.

A card and a boxed calendar from somewhere called Hälssen & Lyon.

Anthony opened the card first.

"Dear Anthony,  
We saw this in the New Year's sale and thought of you. Hope you don't mind.  
All our love,  
Mother & Father"

Curiouser and curiouser. Anthony put the card to one side and picked up the calendar box. It smelt... interesting. Sort of like a new box of teabags.

He opened it.

A tea calendar. His mother had bought him a tea calendar. Where every day was made out of thinly pressed tea leaves and you got a different flavour for every day of the year.

Anthony smiled to himself. His parents knew him so well.

Ten minutes later, the calendar was attached to the front of his fridge waiting for the first of January. And he was back in the study with his books of Greek and the gold ring.

He'd write a thank you card once the Christmas post rush had died down.

Honestly. He would.


End file.
